


Xanadu: Scoundrel City Animals

by Consarn



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon, Pokemon Super Mystery Dungeon
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Injury, Fantasy, Gay, Gen, Mystery, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29657934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Consarn/pseuds/Consarn
Summary: Ten years have passed since Dark Matter ravaged the Pokemon World. What came afterward was stunning, horrific, unbearable peace. As to drown out the silence, the cogs began to grind. An age of development started.Xanadu is the most advanced city in the Sand Continent-in the entire Pokemon World. Skyscrapers break free of the snow and reach to touch the clouds. College campuses, fully-fledged entertainment industries, factories, apartments, power plants and all other kinds of infrastructure: it is a place altogether monstrously human. A place which should be safe from the biting mystique of the Old Times.But what lurks within this newness is the old world: a world of mystery, where Pokemon band together and hunt after discovery and fortune. A place where bonds can be as sharp as knives, where the line between reality and urban legend begin to blur.Fermented within the marrow of the past, a new darkness festers....





	Xanadu: Scoundrel City Animals

**GREAT MACHINERY...**

awaited its owner. Relaxed tendons, untouched muscles and stilled organs, preserved against atrophy by the ineffable power of the Void.

Consciousness stumbled across the slumbering vessel's helm. And there existed a singular red switch, a method by which the machinery could be revved to life.

A question: _How did I get here?_

And when this fledgeling consciousness became aware of its place in the world, the machinery seized it-bound it to its throne. Once the question was asked and the switch was thrown, the feral jolted awake and received his answer.

A plume of fire connected to his jaw, shoved him outward over a space devoid of ground-the floor cracked up into white particles, flakes driving into the tangled strands of his fur. A chill gust split apart at his hindquarters, then built itself into a blanket and cradled him as he started to plummet. It froze his bones solid.

He watched the wisps of flame trail off into the night air. A beaked creature looked down at him. He reached out for it, arms flailing, and it made loud noises back at him.

Farther, and farther. The gust flipped him around, and he saw gray slabs spackled with warm orange glows, laced by trails of smoothed white, scores of meters below. His vision quit, as the inebriating force of his fall reached its crescendo.

For a moment, it felt as thought this nightmare had ended. The static darkness of the Void, pulling his consciousness away. But life was glued to him, through and through. He woke up in time to see the instant the slab-

His jaw slammed into it. An explosion stole his vision again. And other things. For instance, his body no longer felt cold anymore. The question, _how did I get here,_ became sophisticated: _what just happened to me?_ Asked in a hush, filled with reverent panic.

It all came to rest in the snowbank at the foot of the stone wall. This damaged machinery belonged to him, and yet it didn't follow commands. Parts dimmed. Others flickered and disappeared, seemingly for good, like the emptiness of his belly or the need to breathe in the frigid air. The snow chewed at his backside, whole white flakes above buried him in an early plot.

He encountered fear. He fought to fall asleep and ignore that any of this-this brief flash of sensation and life-had ever happened. It didn't want to be in a place that felt like this.

But a hand grabbed his forepaw. It dragged him out of the grave. Someone had come for him, had chosen him from among the snow…

Although this all felt terrifying and strange, the quilava's curiosity refused to let him leave Xanadu just yet.

* * *

**FOUR METERS DOWN. FOUR METERS ACROSS. AND SIX METERS HIGH:**

The dimensions of the universe.

" _First shot at a place of your own,"_ Call had told Flip. " _Go crazy, leave your mark on it. Anything that needs to be done on commission, you come right to me and I'll cover it. Your end of the bargain is to attend class. Understood?"_

Flip threw a bag of groceries down on his table-or, really, it was a special platform lifted off the ground to act as a table, bed, counter, any number of things.

He stared at the dried blood going through its sandalwood grills.

The drizzile missed class today.

Four meters down, four meters across,and six meters high, a flooded tank of shocking stink. Flip wiped his nose and focused on unfurling the groceries, setting aside the food to get at some hidden goods: oran berries, gauze, pain-numbing ointment.

"Ah! Ah-"

"Stop yelling," Flip pleaded. He reached over and wrapped a hand around the quilava's muzzle. The wretched thing shook and fell limp again. "Please stop."

What did the beast look like when Flip found it? Like if a butchery and a grooming shop did business in the same building, and someone took all the fur trimmings and-with a broom-swept a wig onto a large haunch of freshly-cut ham.

Days of work made the poor thing look more like a body again. But the screaming continued.

Flip twisted off the cap to the pain ointment. A lot of 'human medicines' were pseudoscientific at best, but he'd used this cream before after sparring sessions. Squeezing some onto a finger, he slowly approached the quilava's jaw….

"Here."

"Stop!"

The pokemon tumbled across the platform and banged into the wall. A framed portrait-of Flip and a salandit, the lizard holding out her violin to the artist-wobbled and fell straight off the hook. A crack split right down the center. His universe was coming apart at the seams.

"What do you want me to do?" The drizzile threw up his hands. "It's going to make you feel better."

Its jowls trembled. The way its eyes teared up with terror made Flip feel like a villain.

"It's ointment. You rub it on a bad spot, and it…" his years of advanced schooling failed him. "Makes the pain go away."

"Ointment?" It asked.

"Ointment!" Flip couldn't help blurting the word back. "Yes. Yes-yes-yes. Look." He rubbed the cream onto his own mouth. "Ooh, _better."_ The process to make it involved tree bark and several chalky substances with multisyllabic names. It tasted just as exotic and bitter as its origin.

And, tragically, it did 'relieve pain' for the drizzile. Ever since his gut decision to drag the quilava out of the snow, his jaw had clenched tight. Stayed that way.

"Ointment," it said again.

"Want to try some?"

"Ointment." The quilava's ears flattened. It _sounded_ male, but injuries garbled its scratchy falsetto.

"I'll take that as a yes." He squeezed out more and lifted it forward. This time the creature leaned into it, and even helpfully spread the stuff himself.

This trial brought Flip astounding relief. First, the creature spoke. It had chosen screams up to this point, hollering pain and writhing about the platform. Second, it had healed to the point where its body could recover naturally.

Maybe, Flip could set it loose soon?

He looked at his universe… the air choked with a mangy, metallic stink, the stains cut deep into the grain of the sandalwood, the chaos of medical supplies in all corners of the room. He scraped together all his medical trianing from the Pokemon Institute of City Planning and Development, Pic-Pud, to save the thing's life. But now it had to find somewhere else to live, before the sanctity and air of this room died forever to the haunting staunch of injury and danger.

"You're gonna have to leave, soon," Flip said. He walked over to the fallen portrait and inspected its cracks. Sighing, he hung it back up, then went into his grocery bag for the last genre of contents: cleaning supplies.

"Leave?"

"I… have to keep my place clean." The drizzile tore open a bottle with green fluid. When he poured it on a fresh brown rag, rivulets of woodland scent foamed amid the fibers. "Gotta keep the box clean. Always."

"How did I get here? What happened to me?"

He ignored the complexity of those questions and scrubbed the floor. Smothered the riotous foulness in soap. His shoulders locked up and made scrubbing difficult.

"You were thrown from a tall-building for whatever reason, I don't know," the drizzile finally shot back. "Probably because you're feral. So your best bet is to just… find somewhere to hide until you figure life out."

A lot of Pokemon who attended Pip-Cud started businesses in Xanadu. Most were based out of the nearest Tall-Building to the school's campus, _Hope Tower._ Coming in at a modest height compared to other towers, it nonetheless had plenty of room for 'offices,' 'board rooms,' whatever else business required. Construction had recently begun on some new floors.

When Flip found the quilava in the snow, he spared a glance upward over the smaller building's rooftops. He couldn't see much beyond the orange glow of Hope Tower's lights-and yet the dark outline of those developing floors loomed over them both.

"I don't know what to do," the feral admitted. He slunk down, picking at the cream stuck in his mottled fur.

"Well, that makes two of us." Flip swallowed down an urge to scream himself. "I shouldn't have…"

The feral looked at him.

"I shouldn't have forgotten something at the store. I need to leave again."

While Call spared no expense for room redecoration, the allowance he gave to his son was rather meager. Flip had blown through several weeks of savings already. But a snack. Or a compress, anything to help shove down the stress, felt paramount. He shouldn't have done this. His life could be over depending on who knew (or who could learn) about his stupid, stupid decision.

He yanked a scarf free of its hanger near the door, twisting the fabric around his neck until it choked. Sparing a glance back at the feral, he saw the creature huff. For a flicker, his eyes drooped, as if the topic of aliveness had failed to impress him.

* * *

**_DO BE GREEDY!_ **

Was a hole-in-the-wall shop, a _super_ market, a building with similar dimensions to his box. It was wedged in between several of Campus's dormitories, its colorful sign- _Do be Greedy!_ in non-matching pastels-seemingly holding off the gray-slate walls.

Required to stock both normal goods and groceries for students (in order to earn its place on Campus), its theme-less jungle of home goods was nigh-inaccessible to larger pokemon.

The owner himself had to shove aside a dangling display of candy just to get a good look at Flip. He frowned.

"Back again?" The greedent asked. "Goodness, Flip. A 'mon could assume a lot from your recent purchases."

Flip shrugged. "I'm just taking another elective, Clokk. More battling stuff. All of this is covered by school."

Clokk leered at him. "Sure, pal. I thought it was program season. No classes." He sucked in a breath. "It makes me really itchy when one of your 'pedigree' buys medicine and cleaning supplies. You're not inviting trouble to my store, are ya?"

"Of course not. I helped organize these aisles, remember that?" It had burned him up before, how Clokk's arrangement totally didn't account for the flow of traffic, or the logic of his shoppers. For instance, the drizzle arranged a 'fast track' for visiting students that would separate their movement from the other shoppers. "Why would I want to see my hard work ruined?"

The words fell like a struck match into a pot of oil. The greedent reared back, a paw on his chest. "Why! You're _not_ the one to pull favors like that."

"I just want a snack! That's not a favor, it's business."

"A treat to reward yourself for all the criminal doctoring?!"

"Oh!" Flip threw up his arms. "Apparently Pip-cud's done offering classes for the year, and yet you still've been catching drama lessons on the side."

The joke disarmed the clerk, whose worry collapsed into a stomach-rippling giggle. And before he recovered his seriousness, the clinging of chimes alerted them both to a new customer.

A mightyena stalked forward along the straight shot to the front counter. HIs body kept itself rigid and straight, not so much as a sway of his tail threatening the densely-packed shelves of produce and wrapped snacks.

"H-Hello!" Clokk called. "You're a new face. How can I help you today?"

"Well, I like dried jerky," the pokemon said. "And those cups where fresh fruit are packed inside? I always smell them being prepared near where I live."

"The peach cups are in the frozen section. They're packaged fresh each day by a few friends of mine in the Second."

"That's indeed where I live, the Second. But you'll have to help me extra, because-well." He gave his front-facing direction a lopsided grin. His pupils were an odd, cloudy gray. "I'm blind."

Clokk looked at Flip. "No worries," he said, "I've got an _employee_ who could lead the way."

There was currently the pressing issue of a feral in his dorm room. Then again… what if this blind mightyena found his way to this store, excited to fill himself on a longstanding fancy, only to get turned away? If he left dejected and un-helped, it could affect the air of this store-Clokk's universe. Flip wouldn't be able to shop here anymore if that happened.

"Alright, I'll lead the way," the drizzile said. He walked forward and gave the mightyena a light tap on the shoulder… Clokk nodded approvingly and stole away to the back room, leaving them both alone in the store.

"Thanks!" The customer barked. "I'm Doggy, by the way."

"Doggy?" A rather obscene name. A 'doggy' was a weird, monster mix between a term of an endearment and what one would call a stupid, dull mutt. A lot of Pokemon from the Second Entertainment District tended to be off-kilter like that. That was where Flip's father lived, after all.

"You could have probably asked the packers to try some."

"I want to pay. It makes me feel good to play by the city's rules. Like I have things figured-"

"Watch out!"

They were rounding a corner, and the mightyena hurtled towards a collision with a rack of assorted fruits. But even before Flip managed to say something, the blind pokemon sidestepped effortlessly.

"You don't want to scream at me," Doggy said in a low growl. "The flurry's usually worse than whatever woulda happened."

The tone felt extremely off to Flip. Frustration could just be a normal emotion for a blind creature, though… better to not worry. "Sorry. T-They're um, here… if you want to give them a sniff."

The 'refrigerated section' of Clokks store were just shelves built into the wall, packed with snow. Frosted yellow cups poked out of the pure white… Flip recalled the quilava looking much like these cups. Nausea kicked in.

"If they are, um, to your liking, I can bring however many up to the front for-hello?"

At some point, Doggy had slunk backward, into the drizzile's blindspot. The next thing Flip felt was-it started as a sort of prod, a kiss between the mightyena's hind paw and the blue back of his head. A punching crater blew open from the kiss, like a gasket erupting with steam from its patchwork metal body.

Flip bucked forward into the shelves, and the thin wooden articles chopped against his face and stomach. He poured down the shelves, stunned, snow chasing his hands as he half-heartedly scrambled for purchase. It was like swimming up a waterfall, the pain making it feel closer to drowning.

"Don't," the drizzile sighed. Peach cups and other frozen goods pelted him as he fought to escape.

"Question!" Doggy snapped. He brought his muzzle in close, close enough for Flip to hear the growl caught in his throat. "The boss's kid breaks out of his precious routine and starts buying questionable crap. When his goal to play doctor gets him into piss, whose reputation-and livelihood-would be in jeopardy?"

"I… uh…" _Call's livelihood would suffer._

"Very good. What's with the meds, buddy? Did a poor birdie with a hurt wing flap into your window?"

"It's for school."

"Wow, not even the fat squirrel bought that!" Doggy guffawed. "I don't know how the pokemon who _usually_ watch you function, but here's my case: you're not gonna just 'weather' me and go right back to screwing over your dad. I'll hit you as much as I like."

"Where's Quill-"

Doggy found his neck remarkably quick for a blind pokemon. He gripped hard and chucked the drizzile right into the fruit display. His body became tangled in the mesh baskets, and the entire display crashed to the ground. Bananas squished under his stomach, apples skittered away.

"Arceus! Flip!" Clokk bellowed from behind the safety of the counter. "Just what in the world-"

"Shut up!" Doggy shouted at the clerk. "Listen to me, pissant. Whatever you're up to in that dormitory, _cut it out._ "

Flip trembled as he shoved himself free of the fruit. He rolled across the ground, head coming to rest in a way that let him spy the exit. The instant he tried to get up and run, however, those teeth found him again.

They flew him across one of the shelves. Wrappers crinkled and popped by his head as Doggy dragged him across, the sampler ended with yet another rough toss.

"You should feel thankful that Call won't let me go up to your room. Says it might 'ruin your box's energy,' whatever the heck. Most daddies aren't nice to their kids like he is."

"Please…" Flip waggled a hand around. "The store." He curled up again, protecting his neck.

_Defend yourself,_ a tiny voice inside of him pleaded. Another voice laughed and shot back:

_Defend yourself with what?_

"The _store?_ " Doggy stalked towards him. "Ah, yeah. Mayber I'll screw this store up till you answer my-"

" _Enough!"_ Clokk shouted. "Don't you lay teeth on him again."

The mightyena jolted at the sudden noise. He recovered quickly, glancing back with a smile. "Becoming a hero 'cause your store got involved, eh?"

Clokk planted his feet and stilled his shivering cheeks. "It ain't even that. Flip's one real good Pokemon. I-I can personally vouch he's not doing anything that'd hurt his father. Take my word, o-o-or I'll call Campus security on you."

The mightyena laughed. "You _are_ aware who his father is, yeah? Honcho of the Second, owner of the Fine Establishment. Don't matter if your store is on Campus. We'll raze it all the same."

"I will take my chances."

Doggy snarled. He focused his cloud-eyes to the ground… and after catching his breath, sniffed out the direction of the exit. He gave Flip one last, good kick-pressing him down into the hardwood floor-before stalking off into the unknown.

Clokk rushed over, scooping up the drizzile. "Are you okay?"

Flip used the greedent's arms as a ladder, pushing back onto his own two feet. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Or do, on second thought." He looked at the disrepair in his store. "Most of the fellas your pop sends are terrified of bothering ya. Who was that?"

His dad would like the mightyena's gumption. Blind and fresh off the streets, all ready to beat the boss's son into submission. If it weren't for Clokk…

But now, the greedent shot him a profoundly sad smile. "I'm just glad you're okay. Although, you know…"

"Yeah."

"I can't have you coming by anymore. I know how specific you like things… I could recommend a couple nice alternatives to-"

"It's okay. I'll manage."

The storekeep stood up and went around the bend. He came back with another tube of ointment and some oran berries. "I hope whoever it is worth the trouble. And that they'll be alright."

Flip limped over to the door, poking his head out and looking for Doggy. The mightyena probably waited for this opportunity. It would be harder for Doggy to track him outside of a confined space.

Although hampered by the violence, _Don't be Greedy_ still emitted a warm aura. Peaceful, safe, regular. Flip loved this store, redesigned this store… the instant he walked in years ago it was obvious that Clokk loved his store too. He was proud of everything, from the window displays to the peach cups. That love seeped into the floor, the walls, the shelves, the counter, the ceiling and the air and the snow and the doorway.

A heat-wave of stress seeped into the drizzile. It felt like he would either puke or collapse, maybe both. Until the feeling passed, leaving him shaky and unsure of what to do next.

He shook off the dread and hobbled down the path.

* * *

**THE FEELING OF TEETH AROUND HIS NECK**

(Mostly) faded during the walk back to his dorm. By the time he was outside, the throbbing impression from Doggy's fangs had become a sore memory. He rolled his shoulders, then unwrapped his snack in the chilly peace outside the building's side entrance.

It was a sort of 'commemorative' cookie for traditional events, baked and shipped out by a bakery in the First Entertainment District. The thin, crunchy thing carried a sort of 'salty-sweet' taste, one that dried Flip's mouth but nonetheless reigned as his favorite flavor profile.

About halfway through, the cold and the salt left him too parched to continue eating, and his nerves were adequately steeled for the feral. So he wrapped the rest back in its cloth and headed inside. His precious box was up above, on the second floor, leftmost unit, through the hallways littered with door decorations and old flyer notices nailed to walls.

The door to his box was open when it shouldn't have been. Flip stood in the colorful hallway, gripping the cookie until it snapped.

The dorms were near-empty due to it being program season. If Doggy was here… it would be quite easy to set up a private place for 'questioning.'

Or what if the feral ran away? Could Flip really tolerate if that had happened, and it made him feel _lucky?_

Cookie back in his bag, he inched forward. Right away: the quilava was still in the room. His eyes snapped to the drizzile immediately. Standing in their way, however, was an atypically tall salandit. She cradled the broken portrait frame in her claws, engrossed in the crack until the feral spoke up.

"Look," the quilava said. "There he is. I told you."

Quillon whipped around, gnashed her teeth together. Her tail whipped against his wall.

"Stupid asshole," she said. "Do you have a deathwish?"

Flip wished it had been Doggy. Anything besides Quillon. She did spare him most of her lecture, instead choosing to let her fiery glare do the talking. But after their shared silence, the throaty snarls redoubled.

"You've ruined your life. Just took everything you've worked for and threw it away."

The drizzile set down his groceries. His head still throbbed from Doggy's initial blow. "I can tell. I've never been attacked in public before."

"Cool, so he found you. That's the new hire I'm stuck with-your dad loves his blind avenger schtick. And unlike me, he's going to report this."

"I didn't squeal."

"Good for you. Real fucking good for you, Flip. The Expedition Society's reached out by Pelliper mail to notify you that you're an honorary shithead."

"Please stop cussing!"

"Want me to stop? Then put in the damned effort to scape yourself together-"

"I am trying to hold myself together!" No one had seen him cry more than Quillon. That comfort made it nearly impossible to resist the lump in his throat, built up over the last many hours of stress. "I couldn't just leave someone to die in the cold, okay? And I g-get beat up, yelled at for it..." he shuddered and wiped his eyes. "This is all obviously not normal for me. I'm just as confused as you are. And yeah. A-Afraid, too."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, Arceus. Flip..."

She slunk down, sitting against the wall. He stood there, fought back the tears, then walked over to join her.

"Tell me what happened," she said.

"I was doing the garbage pickup program." Pip-Cud ran 'program's while courses were out. These were specialized tasks to assist pokemon in landing their dream roles throughout the world: rescue guild training, exploration team expeditions, internships in the Hope Tower or abroad. Flip didn't think any could help him achieve his dream (or hold his interest, for that matter) so he elected to just pick up litter every other night.

"While I was out, I heard a noise. A really, awful noise." He omitted the fact it sounded wet. "I ran into the alley, and… and it's…" he pointed at the quilava, who cocked his head. "He's not breathing, Quill. So I reached down and tugged him free. Just like that, he started to breathe again and I felt responsible."

Quillon nodded. "And you didn't know he was feral."

"I didn't. I swear."

That truth came afterward. He knew ferals were born out of the Void and typically lacked any sort of emotion or sentience in their early stages. The screams, the struggles: it became clearer and clearer that Flip had somehow stumbled across one of the most hated creatures in Xanadu. In the Sand Continent. In anywhere.

"...And I tried to get rid of him. But he fought to stay in my box."

"You didn't try hard enough."

He started to blurt out a defense. Except, all Flip had done to save himself was nudge the quilava a bit, ask him to scram. Obviously, the thing didn't get up and say _bye-bye._

"Well, this is all garbage," the salandit concluded. "It'll be _Void War Part Two_ when your dad finds out."

"Do you think there's a way out of this?"

She rubbed the bottom of her long snout. "Yeah. We shunt the quilava out. Find someone off the street, say they're your mystery patient."

"We can't just toss the feral out. He won't be able to get food for himself. Let alone find a warm place to sleep."

"Plenty of ferals have managed just fine without your precious succor."

"Name a couple."

"I've met a couple! We both probably met a couple."

Ferals, when developed, purportedly blended in seamless harmony with the Pokemon around them. That was the rumor, and fear, associated to them: Void creatures, pretending to be normal-perchance waiting for the day Dark Matter showed itself in their world again.

"For my sake, let's pretend that 'shunting' is off the table."

"Fuck your sake. Er, sorry." Quillon squeezed her eyes shut. "You said he hit the roof."

"He was pushed off of Hope Tower-"

" _The thing's an attempted murder victim?!_ " Quillon shouted.

"Keep it down!"

She paced over to the quilava and started to rustle around in his fur. He accepted this at first, only to start yelping when she prodded his wounds.

"I can just tell you," Flip said quickly. "Fire type attack."

"Yipe!" The quilava flew back and cowered in the corner. His muzzle pinned itself into a bared-teeth snarl.

Quillon inspected the singed fur she plucked free. "Fantastic. So. A feral is made at the top of the Hope Tower. Some killer freak has access to the top of the Hope Tower. And just by coincidence, fwooom…" she made a falling gesture with her claw. "He falls right into your litter route. Your dad might have actually been right: you're bad luck."

"Look down. Aim," the quilava said.

"What?"

"Look down. Aim." He crawled out of his corner. "The beaked Pokemon told me. Look down. Aim."

"Aim for what?" She asked.

Flip shot up. "Look down and aim for the snow."

Plenty of pokemon had fallen from tall-buildings. Despite this, there were almost no recorded deaths: pokemon had a deep reserve of natural endurance… and their falls were often padded by the snow.

The two looked at one another, then back at the quilava.

Quillon's eyes lit up. "So he was knocked off by accident, maybe? Someone might be looking for this thing."

"You really think so?" Flip asked.

She chuckled mirthlessly. "Or, you know, it could be an _Agent of the Void_ lying to us." The insinuation hung until she continued. "Joking aside. Here's how we fix this: tonight, we bring him back to the 'impact site.' The chances are high the feral figures something out, or someone comes to get him, or a nocturnal remembers what happened-or anything goes that will take him off our claws n' paws. Then we hire an idiot to be your pet project. I'm done with your bullshit in time for violin practice."

"It's risky," he said. "We should just leave him here and check out Hope Tower."

"We don't have access to the top, and remember: we're on a bit of a time crunch. Doggy won't wait around forever before asking Call for special permissions. Which means the feral also comes with us."

"Do you think my dad would really let Doggy inside my box?"

"No time for your daddy issues."

"We'll be waiting here until nightfall, so there actually is."

"Consider this." She pointed a claw at the quilava. "You've risked everything-money, time, future-on that thing. So if you have a problem with papa or don't feel pretty or you spill apple juice in your precious box, there's your therapist."

The feral poked his head up. "I am a therapist? How do I be a therapist?"

"Every time he gets mopey, you say _I'm so sorry that's happened to you. How does that make you feel?_ "

He turned to Flip.

" _I'm so sorry that's happened to you. How does that make you feel?_ " He mimicked her inflection perfectly, down to the sing-songy mockery underneath the words.

Quillon shot the feral a toothy grin and snickered. He bobbed excitedly at her, her previous transgression forgotten.

"That's not funny," he grumbled. "Sorry for being worried about losing my home."

"I'm so sorry that's happened to you," she teased. "How does that make you feel?"

Flip sighed and laid his head against the wall. "Like I need a nap. I haven't slept a full night through in forever, if you don't mind."

She teased him some more, and the feral repeated his new line, but by then he was already fading off into an uneasy rest. Everything was still rather dire-luckily, he couldn't feel hopeless with Quill nearby. Together, they could figure out a way through this.

If he ever wanted to leave Xanadu behind, he would need to.


End file.
